


Somewhere like Home

by 401



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Missing Persons, On the Run, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 13:42:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9387710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/401/pseuds/401





	

Bucky opened his eyes and inhaled sharply, cold air hitting the bottom of his lungs and aching like an infection. Maybe he did have a chest infection. He didn’t know. He looked at the sky above him, cornflour blue fading to peach with the sinking sun, clouds like curds scattered through it and moving lazily through the frigid air. Evening? He pressed his palms flat against the concrete of wherever he was lying. The right one felt the grain of the gravel and the left just clinked as solid met solid. Sometimes he forgot and expected to feel with his left hand, only to be disappointed at the inanimate pressure.

He was on his back, that he knew. There was some sort of warehouse to his left and a river further left still. Docks? The red painted, rust guarded railings at the embankment suggested so, but that warehouse looked like it hadn’t been used in years. A decrepit crane poked out from behind the warehouse like a decomposing hand from the earth, its gnarled steel fingers projecting upwards with sinewy cables hanging from its joints. Bucky lifted his own hand and closed one eye, lining it up with the crane and mimicking the claw-like posture. A gust of wind blew across the parking lot-come-dockyard and made corrugated walls of the warehouse groan and shift.

Bucky eased himself up and looked around some more, wincing as his neck cracked with the movement. There was a quiet road next to him, a gas station on the other side and a convenience store. The sign above its door swung in the breeze. It read ‘OPEN LATE’ in gaudy red letters, but its shutters were down. Bucky frowned. Maybe it was dawn rather than dusk. That made more sense. Slowly he stood up. He looked at his knuckles; scraped near to the bone and probably fractured. He sighed and started to walk, hoping to find a sign or a map or anything to tell him where he had ended up.

He had lost it again. Broken from reality, ‘had an incident’, whatever you wanted to call it. This time, he was not as close to where he had lost it. The hulking glass shoulders of the SHIELD headquarters building were not poking over the skyline anywhere that he could see, and there were woods on the other side of the river. He felt fatigue and panic creep up his chest and make his heart pound.

_Just walk._

Bucky nodded to his own thoughts and walked, down the empty road, limping on a twisted ankle and some cracked ribs. He made a mental note to check how bad his ankle was when he had made some progress. He wondered how he had escaped from SHEILD this time, what had set him off. He didn’t want to leave SHIELD, so something had unhinged him.

_You’ve probably killed even **more** people._

Bucky swallowed hard and fought back the aching of tears behind his eyes. The first car since he had woken up went past him. It was green and back window had a ‘Princess on Board’ sticker the shape of a crown. He let it pass deciding that troubling a family for help when he had been passed out on the floor for god knows how long, had something matted in his hair that looked like blood and a completely unhidden cybernetic arm was not a great strategy. The next vehicle looked promising. A pickup truck. He stuck his right thumb out, turning to face the truck and walking backwards awkwardly. It pulled up next to him and the driver unrolled his window.

“Well, you look like you’ve had a horseshit night,” The man said with no readable expression on his face.

He was wearing a denim work shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He had a cigarette behind his ear, a reddish beard and a thick southern accent. Bucky wondered exactly how far away from Washington he had gone.

“Where’s Washington?” Bucky asked quietly, “DC, not State.”

The man chuckled and pointed ahead of himself.

“Bout’ ten miles that way,” He answered, chewing on the inside of his cheek, “You need a lift.”  


He said it as a statement rather than a question and Bucky nodded. The man pulled a mildly frustrated face and gestured to the passenger seat. Bucky got in gratefully, muttering an apology and some thanks as he got into the truck. It smelt like deep fried something in there. Bucky imagined that it would probably be gross any other time but now, it made his stomach growl.

“What’s the date?” Bucky asked absently, looking out over the horizon at the growing city ahead.

“Wednesday 16th November, 2016,” The driver replied, “Name’s Rodney by the way. Call me Rod. Only the missus calls me Rodney. Crabby old bitch.”

Bucky nodded. He had been out for two days. He had done worse.

Rod’s eyes fell on Bucky’s left arm and he frowned deeply.

“It’s a prosthetic,” Bucky explained, looking away.

Rod nodded slowly, still frowning.

“Yeah…well keep it off my dash. Scratches and such…”

Bucky was happy that the topic of limbs ended there. He glanced at the clock on the truck’s radio. 7:02 am. I was morning after all.

“How far are you going…umm?”

“…Bucky.”

“Now where in hell d’you get a stupid name like that?”

“I need to go to Alcorn Street, but if you can’t get closer I can walk,” Bucky answered, ignoring the question of his name.

Rod stretched.

“Well, _Bucky,_ you were limping like a kicked dog back there and I’m feeling even nicer than usual today so Alcorn Street it is.”  


Bucky sighed a sincere thank you and leaned his head against the window, letting the cold glass quell the throbbing.

The rest of the journey was quick and hazy, and Bucky was sure he fell asleep at least once.

“Well, Buckster,” Rod boomed, shaking him awake, “What have we learned about drinking too much of the devil’s juice and winding up down shit creek?”

Bucky huffed a laugh and nodded. He dug in his pockets for some cash but Rod shook his head and gave a long drawn out ‘nahh’.

Bucky hopped out of the truck and made his way down the familiar road, the limp getting more painful as he did so.

He stopped at number 44, hesitating with his hand over the doorbell before giving a sharp push and waiting with his breath held. There was a tense silence then the shuffling of feet and keys.

Steve swung the door open and huffed a heavy sigh as soon as he processed the face in front of him. He pulled Bucky forward and into the hallway hugging him to his chest so hard that it ached.

“Jesus,” Steve gasped, burying his face into the top of Bucky’s head, “God, I thought I’d lost you again. I was not ready to do this again. Bucky for…”

Steve let his voice trail and squeezed, swaying them both in the hug.

“You’re freezing,” Steve sighed, “And you smell pretty rough.”

Bucky groaned in muffled agreement against Steve’s chest.

They went into the living room, Steve first. Bucky stomach dropped when he took in the Captain’s face fully for the first time. He looked exhausted and his eyes were rubbed and damp. Guilt hit.

The dining table was littered with maps and the phone that was usually on the coffee table was hooked up there. There were four coffee mugs and a barely eaten sandwich.

“Where were you?” Steve asked, cupping Bucky’s face in both hands, hoping his cheeks would warm up.

“Honestly, I’m not sure. I only had to hitchhike about 10 miles though, so not too bad.”

“Bucky, you were gone for _two days,”_ Steve snapped.

Bucky looked down and nodded. Steve moaned apologetically and pulled Bucky into him again.

“Please, please, please try not to do that to me again,” Steve whispered, “I’m an old man, it’s not good for my heart.”  


Bucky coughed a laugh and in doing so smelt his own breath.

“I need to shower so badly,” He admitted, pulling away from the heat and familiarity of Steve arms reluctantly.

Steve nodded, he too looking unwilling to let go.

“Yeah. Yeah…I’ll call SHIELD and tell them to call off the search,” Steve agreed, rubbing his eyes.

Buck left the room and went into the bathroom, turning on the shower uncomfortably hot and stood underneath the stream, grimacing as he watched the water flow grey around his feet. He filled both hands with shampoo and scrubbed at the patch of matted blood in his hair until the strands loosened and smoothed out. The heat made his shoulders itch satisfyingly so he stood still with his forehead against the tiles and let the water course down his back, rinsing off the past 48 hours.

He was home. Somewhere like home.

 


End file.
